On Behalf of the Innocent
by Baphrosia
Summary: "Communing with the spirit world? Bad idea. Lesson learned." After an attempt to communicate with the spirit world leaves her shaken, Willow sets out to find a mentor. But finding a mentor on the Hellmouth turns out to be even more difficult than learning magic. Set during the summer between S2 and S3.


**A/N:** For Round Two of **buffy_genfic**. The focus for this round was Willow and Magic vs Technology.

 **Title:** On Behalf of the Innocent  
 **Characters:** Willow  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Word count:** 2250  
 **Recipient/prompt:** **mierke**  
Magic vs. Technology: Magic  
Three elements you'd like included: Floating pencils, a guide, Willow at the beginning of discovering her powers  
Two things you don't want: Xander, Willow endangering one of her friends  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Setting:** The summer between S2 and S3  
 **Betas:** **foxstarreh**  
 **Notes:** There's a teeny bit of off-screen Xander. And, actually, a fair bit of technology. Because it's Willow, and sort of unavoidable.

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On Behalf of the Innocent

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Willow lay where she'd collapsed in her darkened room, slumped over like a puppet with its strings cut and gasping for air. As the harshness of her breath calmed to shallow pants, the clanging in her head likewise settled into eerie silence. She forced herself to hands and knees and crawled over to peer through the door leading to the patio outside her bedroom.

It took her several seconds to realize what was wrong with the view. As in, there was _none_ : only pitch blackness. No comforting glow from the streetlamps, or the neighbor's windows. No comforting sounds of late-night television floating on the balmy summer air, either. The eerie silence inside her head echoed back at Willow from every direction, making the darkness press closer. With a shaky breath, she pushed herself to her feet and clung to the doorframe, hanging there for several moments.

When she'd regained control of her legs, she stepped outside. High in the sky, too far to ever touch, the stars twinkled against the velvety dark. The world remained silent and still.

Maybe the tearing apart hadn't been within, as she'd thought. Maybe she'd –

What?

Translated herself elsewhere? Destroyed the world?

"Hello?"

Nothing. Not even crickets.

Willow swallowed. She took a few steps, fingers trailing along brick as she edged toward the front of her house, not wanting to trip over something in the dark. "World? Are you still here? Am _I_ still here?" She tried to laugh at herself, but couldn't.

She'd been a ghost once. Dead, sort of. This didn't feel this same. This felt –

Alone.

So alone.

Somewhere down the block, a baby's cry broke the silence, and the world rushed back in. Dark. Atypically quiet. But _real_.

"Oh, thank god," Willow said, feeling silly, but _oh so_ relieved. Of course she hadn't destroyed the world. That would take more power than Willow Rosenberg, witch-in-training, could realistically ever wield. Even by accident. She patted the earth, which was a lot closer than it had been a moment earlier, before rolling over onto her back to stare up at the distant stars. Her body shook, vestiges of fear working their way out. "Communing with the spirit world?" she said aloud, wanting the comfort of the sound of her own voice, real despite the way her words trembled through the lonely dark. "Bad idea. Lesson learned." She wouldn't be trying that one again anytime soon.

The collywobbles eventually passed, and Willow found herself on the sidewalk in front of her house. A block down, windows glowed electric gold, warm and inviting. She peered in the other direction. Same. Darkness radiated from Casa Rosenberg, but it hadn't spread far. By the time Willow had returned to her room, so had the electricity.

With lamps aglow once more, she forgot her fear and remembered the rush. The _power_. Power humming through her veins, electrifying her, the way it had when she'd re-ensouled Angel. That power was something she could master, she _knew_ it. Something she could use to help –

Not Buffy, because Buffy wasn't here, and Willow had promised herself she wasn't going to torture herself with thoughts about Buffy anyhow.

But Willow could help. She could fight.

She could matter.

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.***.

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Willow hadn't forgotten her terror, not really. Nor had she forgotten her lesson. Magic meant channeling primal forces, forces that couldn't be neatly explained in academic textbook style. It wasn't like chemistry. She couldn't just study the book and master the subject, the way she could with schoolwork. If she was going to do more magic, she needed a guide.

She remembered the power she'd channeled with a frisson of fear.

And an even bigger frisson of desire.

There was no _if_ about it.

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.***.

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Summer marched on, and the finding of her own personal Shirley MacLaine turned out to be much harder than Willow had imagined it would be. Her first choice for guide to all things mystical would've been Miss Calendar, but... all she had of Miss Calendar were her notes. And memories.

Her second choice was Giles. Willow wanted to ask him, but she could never figure out how to bring it up. "Hey Giles, wanna take a break from worrying about my deserter best friend to train me in forces you seem to be intent on forgetting you ever knew anything about? No?"

So, next on the list. (And yes, she had a list. Color-coded and everything, because just because she was messing with terrifying forces she knew nothing about, it didn't mean she couldn't be methodical about it.) Next on her list was Amy, but Amy had gone away for the summer with her dad and Willow didn't want to wait even four weeks to try more magic.

She tried doing some simple things with Xander – he was her best friend after all, and Willow figured he could at least be her anchor, if not a guide. And if she was trying something new and scary, or something to help Bu – help fight, Xander would be right there with her. It went without saying. Except Xander didn't work out so well. Willow had assumed that if she could do magic, anybody could, but it turned out Xander had no talent for it. No interest, either. Worse, he seemed to _suck_ the energy from the room, and turn it all into nervous boy pacing.

Oz, on the other hand, was already magical by definition. And serenity was his middle name. Xander couldn't be her anchor but maybe Oz could. After all, he'd helped with re-souling Angel, right?

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.***.

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The less said about _magic_ and _Oz_ , the better.

"What about Uncle Bob's," Oz suggested after. He said it as if it were no big deal.

If Oz could be calm about it – well, Oz was always calm. About everything. But Willow could be calm too. Not completely freaked out. "Uncle... Oh. Uncle Bob's Magic Cabinet. Where people who know how to do magic go to buy magic type things. Makes sense." On the short walk over, she practiced what she was going to say, until she thought she could pass for mature and experienced instead of spazzy and in over her head.

"Sorry, sweetie, I don't actually do magic." The new owner leaned in a little closer and, with a wave of her hand at the wares, said in a conspiratorial whisper, "It's not real, you know. This is all just for show." She straightened, her horsey mouth turning down a bit at the corners. "My brother left this place to me in his will, but I'm planning on selling as soon as I can. Sunnydale – there's something not quite right about this town. Too many gangs, for one."

"Yeah, it's a big problem," Willow agreed, her shoulders slumping. "You should probably avoid going out at night if you can help it. Oh, and carry a cross at all times. The... gangs... are more likely to leave you alone if you do." Civic duty fulfilled, she turned to leave, then noticed the bulletin board near the cash register with announcements pinned to it. After looking them over for several minutes, she tore off a phone number tab from one and put it in her pocket.

Willow shuffled back over to the proprietor, hands still in her pockets. "Is it okay if I put a flyer up?"

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.***.

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With her own ad pinned to the magic shop's bulletin board – "Witch seeks mentor. White magic only. Contact CyberWitch " – Willow set about reaching out to Miss Calendar's contacts in the technopagan world. She'd hoped to find a local teacher (the witch whose phone number she'd taken from the bulletin board had disappeared weeks ago under "mysterious circumstances" according to the elderly man who'd answered the phone), but long distance mentoring was better than no mentoring at all.

While she waited for responses, she alternated between her official summer reading list – Sheila Rosenberg and California DOE approved – and her less official one. Willow set down the book she'd been reading, closing the page on her highlighted Jonathan Swift quote – "Power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the innocent" – and slipped into the world of glamours, fascinated. "Oooh. This one doesn't look too hard," she said to her aquarium, too wrapped up in her research to remember it stood empty and talking to her absent fish was a habit she really needed to break. She bookmarked the spell that promised to hide 'unsightly blemishes of the visage' for use next time she had a zit, and then looked up when the blinking computer screen caught her eye.

 _You have mail!_ Was it lame to still feel a little thrill every time she saw those words? Especially after the whole Malcolm/Moloch thing?

Willow opened the message.

Nice to meet you, Willow. How did you know Jenny? Sure, I'd love to help – we always welcome new members and friends of Jenny's.

-UrbanShaman (Rory Kilton)

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Fingers poised over the keyboard, Willow took a deep breath and tried to think of how to respond. She hadn't been sure if Miss Calendar's associates were aware of her death, but now it seemed she had her answer. At least for UrbanShaman.

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Mr. Kilton,

I was a student of Miss Calendar's at Sunnydale High...

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.***.

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Two days later, she was replying to her fourth (not-so-gentle) brush-off from the technopagan community, and not quite as gracious and understanding as she'd been the first, or second, or third, time.

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Dear Algorithmic Theurgist,

I'm sorry that I live on the Hellmouth. I can't help it. I was born here, and until I turn 18, I'm kinda stuck here unless my parents decide to move. I don't think it's fair to refuse to talk to me just 'cause of where I live. And, just so we're clear, I had nothing to do with Miss Calendar's death. That was Angelus, and only Angelus. Yes, I knew Angel. Yes, I even tried to help him get his soul back. But I'm not in league with him, and I hate that he lost his soul and killed Miss Calendar just as much as you. So get off your high horse you... you... pompous jerkhead!

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Breathing heavily, Willow stared at the screen for several seconds, and then sighed. She put index finger to backspace key and held it until the screen was blank and fresh once more. Before she could begin again, her inbox chimed.

 _You have mail!_

Funny how it wasn't quite as exciting as it had been earlier in the week. Expecting yet another rejection, she opened the newest message without much interest. She read through it quickly, then more slowly as certain phrases – "saw your request on the bulletin board at the Sunnydale magic shop" and "will be spending some time in Sunnydale this autumn" and "it'll be a lark to work together" – caught her attention. Excited now, Willow began to reply.

Except. There was something... something she could quite put her finger on. She read through the message again, paying closer attention to the signature. E.R. That didn't tell her much.

"Quit being a ninny," Willow told herself. The logical part of her mind pointed out that she was probably only suspicious because she'd had such bad experiences so far. "I'm sure –" She stopped and checked the email address. "I'm sure ChaosMage is a perfectly nice... mage... person." At any rate, it was just an email, not a commitment to become their student. And she hadn't given away any personal information yet.

She hit send.

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.***.

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With three weeks left until the end of summer vacation, Willow began to despair of finding a mentor. ChaosMage hadn't replied except to suggest she keep up with her reading for now and to practice some pagan blessings, and to confirm they'd get together next time he was in town. The technopagan community had been a bust. And, other than ChaosMage, so had the sign at the magic shop. The only guidance she'd received all summer long had come from a Cardiff witch by the name of Bronwyn.

Bronwyn had explained that a mutual acquaintance had forwarded Willow's email to her, and while she wouldn't be able to directly mentor Willow due to distance, she could recommend a few exercises that would help with learning control and balance. Willow had tried Bronwyn's suggestion to practice control by attempting to float pencils. A bunch of times. But her pencils didn't want to float, no more than her pens. Or her hairclips. Or any of the other things she'd tried to float, eyes closed, mind still and calm.

Frustrated with her lack of progress, Willow decided to go ahead and try the glamour she'd bookmarked for later. Surely something so small couldn't be dangerous, right? It would be safe, mentor or no mentor.

And the glamour did work. There was no thrill from it, no rush of power – but also no scary consequences. Just – poof – no zit. Willow stared into the mirror at her blemish-free visage. She reached up with cautious fingers and felt her nose. Still the same Willow nose, now with invisible zit.

"See?" she told the naysayers inside her head. "Nothing to worry about. I had it totally under control."

Energized, vindicated, she grabbed up the tome of glamours, then changed her mind and reached for a more advanced spellbook. Willow leafed through it quickly, looking for another spell easy enough to attempt sans mentor.

As long as she stuck to the little things, and didn't try anything beyond her control, she would be fine. Completely fine.  
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 _Fin_  
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End file.
